Silver Linings
by SwitchbladesInMyHeart
Summary: After a tragic accident endangers the life of the person Ponyboy loves the most, the Curtis family and the gang will need to find strength in each other, now more than ever. But, as they'll soon be reminded, good can come from even the darkest of circumstances. Fortitude will be tested, facades will crumble... and could Darry be falling in love?
1. Chapter 1

**Well, hey there, fellow outsiders. There are about a million things I was planning on saying, but I seem to have forgotten all of them. So, enjoy!**

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><p><em>"More information is always better than less. When people know the reason things are happening, even if it's bad news, they can adjust their expectations and react accordingly. Keeping people in the dark only serves to stir negative emotions."<br>~_Simon Sinek

_Ponyboy_

I sighed loudly. My teachers had assigned not one, not two, but _three_ essays. I was so focused on finishing the assignments that I didn't notice the opening of the door- that is, until I looked up to find Two-Bit poking around in the kitchen.

"Don't y'all have anything to eat around here?" he asked, grinning toothily.

"Nah, Darry hasn't been to the store in a while," I replied. "Have you seen Soda? He was supposed to be home a half hour ago." Two-Bit shook his head.

"Nope, but I ran into Steve on the way over here. He was on his way home from work. Said Soda's shift ended before his." I raised an eyebrow.

"Well, then how come he ain't home yet?" I asked. Two-Bit shrugged, helping himself to a glass of chocolate milk. "He's probably off sweet talking some girl." I nodded, but didn't agree, knowing better than most that my brother's heart was still cracked from Sandy having up and left him. But I shrugged the thought off, mostly because I didn't want to think about Soda being sad, and returned to my homework.

It was nearly an hour later when Darry arrived home from work. I had since finished my assignments and was perched on the couch, reading a book from the school library. Two-Bit had been floating in and out of the house, but Soda had yet to show up.

"Hey, Pony," Darry greeted me, just as he always did, placing his hand on my shoulder briefly as he made his way into the kitchen. "Where's Soda?" I glanced up from my book.

"He hasn't come home yet," I replied, glancing at the clock. Darry sighed.

"How many times do I have to tell him that, if he's not coming straight home after work, he needs to let me know?" he wondered aloud. I shrugged, returning my attention to my book. Darry settled into his recliner, and the room remained quiet for several minutes.

The stillness was shattered, however, when Steve burst through the front door, gasping for breath. Darry and I jumped up immediately.

"Steve, you look like you've just run a marathon," Darry remarked. "What is it?" As Steve continued to pant, the screeching of sirens became audible in the distance. I felt my stomach twist around itself.

"C'mon, Steve, what is it?" I asked the older boy, whose eyes held a level of distress.

"Steve, what in God's name happened?" asked Darry, clenching a fist by his side. His eyes flashed with worry for a moment, but the emotion was quickly swallowed back up by their usual haze of seriousness, unreadability.

"Please, please, tell me Soda's here," Steve begged. His voice hung in the frozen atmosphere of the room- Steve Randle was downright pleading. Whatever had happened, it wasn't good.

"No, he's not," Darry replied slowly, attempting to gauge the situation based on Steve's expression. "Why? What's going on?" Steve's face contorted in rage.

"Damn it!" he cried, slamming his fist into the wall. "C'mon, we need to go!" I felt unable to process the situation.

"Steve, tell us what's going on!" I cried, panic crawling up my lungs, seizing the air I so desperately needed. When Steve didn't respond immediately, Darry took a step forward.

"Steve," he growled in a low voice. "Where's Soda? What's happening?" Steve regained his composure.

"On my way here, I ran into Tim. He said the DX was on fire," he explained hollowly. "And I knew in my gut, if Soda wasn't here, he was there, 'cause-" he broke off, appearing angry with himself. I felt my heart sink lower and lower. What was Steve trying to say?

"Steve!" barked Darry. "Why? Why do you think Soda's there?"

"Because I left my damn wallet there and he said he'd go back and get it!" Complete and utter silence enveloped the room, choking us.

_Not Soda, _I prayed, unable to make a sound. _Please, God, not Soda. _At the mention of fire, my mind had been consumed by images of Johnny, trapped, burned, dying, flames bursting around him.

Darry made a sound that suggested his throat was clogged with tears. Clearing it to the best of his ability, he shattered the horrid silence that had gripped all of us.

"I'm going over there," he declared. I swiveled on my heels.

"I'm coming, too," I choked out, refraining from bursting into tears. Darry sighed deeply.

"Pony, I don't know if you should be there, if there's a fire..." he began, avoiding my gaze. I shook my head fiercely.

"There's no way you're going without me," I exclaimed, with as much conviction as I could muster. "If Soda's in trouble, I'm gonna be there. Plus," I pointed out, "I could always just go myself, after you left." Darry knew it was no use arguing.

"Fine, but stay right beside me," he said firmly. I nodded, once again unable to find my words. My mouth felt suddenly dry.

"Well, then let's get the hell over there!" exclaimed Steve. He spun on his heel and sprinted into the street, Darry and I close behind him.

The DX was only a few minutes from our house, but, to me, and undoubtedly to Darry, it felt like a lifetime. _Maybe Tim was lying_, I thought. _Maybe the DX isn't on fire._ Even if it was, Soda was gonna be just fine. He always was. He had to be.

Before the gas station was even in sight, I felt my hopes collapse. Dark, billowing clouds of smoke were rising into the air, an ugly stain against an otherwise clear, blue sky. My lungs searching for air that I simply couldn't find, I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as Darry, Steve, and I rounded the corner. I didn't want to see the DX on fire, knowing my brother worked there. Knowing my brother could very well be trapped inside there. I didn't ever want to see another fire.

But the wailing of nearby sirens and the sharp intake of breath from Darry caused me to open my eyes. True to Tim's word, tongues of flame were swallowing up the gas station. A small crowd had gathered to watch, but it parted to allow the firemen access to the building, just as the first in a series of miniature explosions occurred. Desperately scanning the pool of onlookers for Sodapop's face, I willed myself not to be sick. Beside me, Darry blanched. Steve let out a long chain of curses, though they were barely discernible amidst the screaming of the crowd. _Where was Soda?_

Deep within myself, I knew where he was. Somewhere, somewhere in the darkest, least-acknowledged corner of my imagination, I knew that my brother was entrapped in the blazing inferno of smoke and ash before me. But I couldn't believe it. I simply couldn't allow myself to think that way. Even as one of the firemen reemerged, a limp figure the color of ash hoisted over his shoulder. Even as Darry ran forward, swearing and crying at the same time, and I followed. Even as I was close enough to see the charred remains of a wallet, grasped tightly in a badly burned hand. Even as the caterwauling of an ambulance began to sound in my ears. Even as Darry grasped my shoulder tightly, and pushed me towards Steve and Two-Bit and Two-Bit's car (_When had Two-Bit even arrived? _I wondered), and climbed into the back of the red and white vehicle, I couldn't believe it. Nothing could hurt Sodapop. There had to have been a mistake.

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><p><strong>Reviews truly are appreciated, but honestly, I'm going to keep writing for one reason or another, regardless of feedback. I do genuinely love to hear opinions on my work, though, whether you thought it was okay, good, great, or absolutely terrible! Next chapter should be up soon!<strong>

**Stay gold.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, guys. I'm so happy to have received positive feedback on the first chapter, and didn't want to keep you waiting for the second! As some of you may have noticed, I went through and corrected the grammatical mistakes in the first chapter, and added a quote to the beginning. Just wanted to keep improving (sorry for the many, many mistakes). I'm also sorry that this one's a little shorter than the last one, but I hope it's still juicy enough to tide you over until the third. Today was the last day of a five-day weekend (Gotta love teacher planning days) :P so updates may not be as fast as this in the future. I'm already writing the next chapter though, so it won't be terribly long! Without further ado, I give you Chapter 2 of "Silver Linings"**

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><p><em>"It's enough to drive me crazy<br>__That I can't save Casey  
><em>_'Cause what's been done  
><em>_Has been done to him"  
><em>~Cady Groves, _"4 Years (Casey's Song)"_

_Darry_

My feet seemed to operate on an agenda of their own. As hazy as my mind was, and as blurred as my vision was, it was a miracle I was even able to climb into the ambulance. Crammed into the back of the vehicle with me were two paramedics and my brother, lying unconscious on a stretcher, an oxygen mask strapped to his face. It took all of my willpower not to break down entirely.

I took one of Soda's limp, gray hands, the one that had only suffered minimal burns, in my own. The paramedics were hurriedly preparing fluids and machines as we sped down the road. I squeezed his hand tightly, holding back a flood of tears. Ponyboy would need me to have a grip on myself, on the situation. And Soda wouldn't want to wake up to find me sobbing uncontrollably. I needed to keep my emotions in check for my brothers, just as I always did. As hard as I concentrated on that, though, I couldn't deny how terrible Soda looked.

Blood was trickling from a gash on his temple, which was surrounded by angry-looking blisters. His neck was seared with a patchwork of crimson lines. Both of his forearms were inflamed, the fragile skin decorated with charring. The hand which still held Steve's wallet was blanketed with blisters and dripping with blood. Flames had eaten away at the hem of his jeans, exposing his left ankle to the blaze; from my angle, at least, it looked horribly misshapen. His singed shirt had ridden up to reveal a dark, red, baseball-sized area on his abdomen. The longer I looked at it, the more it seemed to devour his flesh. I hadn't been to see Johnny while he was in the hospital (something I would always regret), but if he looked anything like this, I pitied Ponyboy, knowing that images of our disfigured friend were prone to cropping up in my youngest brother's nightmares. Steeling myself with several deep breaths, I wiped some of the blood off of Soda's forehead and brushed his hair away from his face.

"It'll be okay, little buddy," I whispered, my undependable voice cracking. "It'll all be just fine." I knew he couldn't hear me, which meant I was simply trying to convince myself.

Though the nearest hospital was a scarce few miles away, time dragged on agonizingly. Soda's breathing was becoming more and more labored, until, for a few awful minutes, I feared he had died. And, in a way, he had.

His heart had stopped.

I watched as if through a veil as the paramedics performed a series of chest compressions and resuscitation techniques, my own heart pounding. I was forced to release Soda's hand and step back, in order to give them more room to work. It utterly destroyed me to see my brother dreadfully injured, and know that there was nothing I could do to help him. I was his older brother, his legal guardian, the one to whom both he and the state of Oklahoma had entrusted his wellbeing, and I was simply helpless. The desire both to weep and to lash out at something, _anything_, intensified within me with each passing moment, until, by some miracle, a tremor ran through his flame-ravaged body and his heart sprung back to life, though he was still pale and unconscious. I felt myself release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"What are his name and age?" asked one of the two paramedics, a stocky, middle-aged man, not taking is eyes off of Soda. I made my best effort to clear my throat of the unshed tears blocking it.

"Sodapop Patrick Curtis," I replied. I noticed the man's raised eyebrow, but felt too sick with fear to care. "He's 17." Now that the danger of Soda's heart stopping had passed, I moved closer to him and clasped his hand again. "C'mon, Pepsi-Cola. Everything's gonna be just fine," I murmured. Turning to the paramedic nearest me, a younger, leaner guy with dark, messy hair that reminded me of Johnny's, I asked,

"Is it bad that he hasn't woken up yet?" The paramedic grimaced.

"I can't say it's a good sign," he began, and I felt my heart fall into my stomach. The man looked at Soda, and then back at me.

"But, it might be better that way," he added. "He'll be in a lot of pain when he does." I gave an involuntary shudder, despite the heat radiating from Soda's hand. As I continued to brush his sticky, blood-clotted hair away from his eyes, the older paramedic regarded me.

"You don't look old enough to be his dad," he said. But it was more of a question than a statement.

"I'm not," I replied, my eyes still trained on Soda's closed ones. "I'm his brother, and his legal guardian." Neither of them said anything else, and I was glad. As they continued to prepare medicines and equipment, I mentally braced myself for the hellish situation I would be faced with at the hospital. There would be tears, uncertainty, irrepressible doubts. And I would be expected to pacify the disagreements, shed light on the darkness, calm the apprehension. I had to be strong, for the gang, for Ponyboy, for myself. And for Sodapop.

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><p><strong>Like it? Love it? Hate it? Remember, Soda's life rests in my hands! Haha, just kidding. I really would love to know what you think, though! Reviews are genuinely appreciated, and I do try to respond to all of them. See ya!<br>Stay gold.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Bonjour! Here's a bit of a longer chapter for y'all. I've been doing a lot of research on the type of medical stuff in this chapter and in chapters to come, so I hope I'm not too far off the mark. This one's a bit lengthier than the other two. Hope you enjoy!**

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><p><em>"Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time."<br>_~Veronica Roth

_Ponyboy_

I didn't remember sitting down inside Two-Bit's car. I didn't remember fastening my seatbelt as we flew down the road. I didn't remember anything until we sped through a red light.

"Two-Bit!" I exclaimed, snapping out of my daze. "Are you trying to get us all killed?" He glanced guiltily at me from the front seat.

"Sorry, kid," he replied, slowing down a bit. I wasn't sure why, exactly, his driving was bothering me so much- I had ridden in cars with Dallas Winston, after all. Perhaps it was the fact that the faster we drove, the sooner we reached the hospital, and the hospital was somewhere I never wanted to be again.

I did everything I could to rid my mind of thoughts of Soda, burned, blistered, and bleeding. Soda, my brother, trapped inside a blazing building. Soda, the person I loved more than anyone else in the world, passed out cold in an ambulance. Just as Johnny had been a few short months ago.

_No_, I chided myself. _Don't think about that_. And, for the next several minutes, I was doing a fine job of not thinking said thoughts- until the sound of the person in the passenger's seat alternating between weeping and swearing reached my ears.

It was a terrible noise. Until now, the closest I'd ever seen Steve, tough-as-nails Steve, come to breaking down was when Dally had died. But here he was, falling apart right in front of my eyes. I could only make out bits and pieces of what he was muttering to himself, his voice distorted by tears.

"Damn wallet... fire department... Goddamned wallet... Shoulda been me..."

_It should've been me_... I felt something inside of me collapse, and the fears that had been simmering in my heart boiled over. If only I had gone looking for him when he didn't come home. I could've been there with him, could have helped him, maybe even saved him from harm. And now, I was forced to accept the fact that things would never be the same. Soda could be dying right now. Soda could be dead right now. _Soda could be dead right now_.

Sodapop, my vibrant, ever-exuberant brother, who understood everyone and everything, who could put a smile on my face when my world was falling apart, could be dead. He could be gone, somewhere I could never, ever get him back. He could have been dead before the firefighters even showed up. A scream was building up in my throat. My eyes were squeezed tightly shut. I could feel my fingernails digging into my skin. Fear was coiling itself around my stomach.

"I... I think I'm gonna- gonna be sick," I stuttered. My voice sounded hoarse.

"It's fine, Ponyboy, be sick if you need to," Two-Bit responded, his voice uncharacteristically soft, gentle, and lined with sorrow that was impossible to miss. I tried to figure out whether or not he was sober, but my head was spinning.

I wasn't sick, though. Blinding flashbacks of smoke, flame, and ash flashed through my mind, bursting in front of me until I could feel myself trembling. I almost _wanted _to throw up, to expel all of the pent up fear rooting itself in my stomach. No such luck. When we pulled into the hospital parking lot a few minutes later, I was still brimming with anxiety.

The three of us nearly ran through the door, into the waiting room. I was thankful to find that it was fairly vacant. Two young women were conversing on one side of the room, while a man sat in a chair in the corner opposite them, nervously tapping his foot and smoking a cigarette. I hurriedly lit one for myself, sinking into a chair between Two-Bit and Steve just as Darry emerged from a clinical-looking hallway to our left. I immediately jumped back to my feet.

"What's going on?" I cried, not sure I wanted to know the answer. "How is he? How's Soda?" I was nearly tripping over my words. They spilled forth from my mouth in a jumble. Darry ran a hand over his face, highlighting his many worry lines, and I noticed, for the first time, the tear tracks etched in his cheeks. My stomach lurched.

"Darry, what's wrong?" I asked, knowing it was a stupid question. "He's not... he can't be... he isn't..." I stuttered, my vision blurring. But I willed myself to hold it together. Greasers don't just go around crying in public. Some of us not at all, but none of us in front of strangers. Darry crossed over to where I was standing and flung an arm tightly around my shoulder. I could feel him quivering. Pivoting slightly to address Steve and Two-Bit, who I'd almost forgotten were there, he said hollowly,

"He's pretty bad off. They're treating him for shock." I could feel the blood draining from my face. It was a good thing Darry was still holding tightly to me, because I think I would've blacked out then and there without his support. This couldn't be real. This couldn't actually be happening. Too many bad things had happened recently for anything else to go wrong.

I was jarred from my inner denial by Steve whirling around and slamming his fist into the wall. I flinched.

"This is all my fault," he moaned, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his reddening hand. "If I hadn't left my blasted wallet there, if I had just gone back to get it on my own, he wouldn't be here right now." I stared. Steve Randle didn't talk like that. He didn't pour out his emotions, didn't divulge his fears or what was troubling his conscience. I hadn't realized the full extent of his guilt. Before Darry or I could so much as open our mouths, Two-Bit, whom I'd decided was indeed sober, was berating him.

"Listen here, buddy," Two-Bit said sternly, in a tone I rarely heard him use. "What happened ain't your fault. It ain't none of our faults. Did you start that fire?" When Steve continued to look angry with himself, Two-Bit raised his voice.

"Did you start that fire?" he nearly yelled, and I jumped slightly. Steve shook his head silently.

"Well, then it ain't your fault," Two-Bit concluded, lowering his voice again. It took on a more sympathetic quality as he clapped Steve on the shoulder and added, "And Soda ain't gonna wanna wake up to find us all blubbering and blaming ourselves. We gotta be strong for him." Steve nodded slightly, straightening up.

"Is that all you know, Darry?" he asked, his voice calmer and steadier. Darry, still slightly astonished by the effectiveness of Two-Bit's outburst, took a seat. I sat down beside him as he replied,

"Pretty much." He opened his mouth to add something else, but hesitated. A cocked eyebrow from Two-Bit, who was now pacing, coaxed it out of him.

"His heart- it stopped in the ambulance," he finally admitted. I inhaled sharply.

"They were able to restart it," Darry explained, "but he still hadn't woken up when they took him back. He's... he's burned up pretty bad." The waiting room swam before my eyes. I clenched my fists at my sides. I took a drag on my cigarette. I shut my eyes as tightly as I could. I did everything in my power to hold myself together. _We gotta be strong for him_.

As I soon discovered, being strong required an awful lot of waiting.

It was nearly three hours before we heard anything on Soda. Though each of us took turns pestering the secretaries at the front desk, who looked down on us all too pityingly, for information, the response was always the same:

"He is still undergoing treatment. A doctor will be out to talk to you as soon as possible." Soon, the waiting room emptied out. The man who'd been sitting in the corner was eventually called back to meet his newborn child. The two women departed. Two-Bit and I busied ourselves with games of poker, using cards he'd lifted from the convenience store down the street as soon as he realized how long we'd be waiting. He, Steve, and I smoked our way through a pack and half of Kools until Darry decided I'd had more than enough. Only he seemed content (well, as content as could be expected) to sit silently, lost in his own thoughts. The rest of us preferred to employ any tactics we could to keep the endlessly horrid possibilities of what could be happening to Soda from the forefront of our minds.

After what seemed like an eternity, a distinguished-looking man in a white coat entered the room. I was on my feet even before he'd spoken, because I'd seen the look on his face as he glanced down at his clipboard. It was the look I saw on every teacher's face on the first day of every school year. He was making sure he hadn't misread something. Soda's name.

"Family of... Sodapop Curtis?" he asked, and the other three leaped up. Darry stepped forward to shake the doctor's hand, looking far older than his years. It was as if the taxing hours we'd spent in the hospital had aged him quite prematurely.

"Darrel Curtis," he introduced himself, speaking for the first time in over an hour. "I'm his legal guardian." The doctor acknowledged this with a nod. Had I not been overwhelmed with anxiety, I would've appreciated the fact that he didn't ask questions or offer sympathy because of our appearances. But I could feel my breathing becoming steadily faster, as I prayed to a god I had long-since stopped believing in. _Please_, I begged silently. _Please, don't let us have been too late_. Suddenly, the doctor became a different man, dressed in the same white coat and wearing the same tired expression. _Even if he lived he'd be crippled for the rest of his life..._

"My name is Dr. John Sommers," the doctor standing in front of me replied, tearing me from my memories. "As you must know, Sodapop was in critical condition and in a state of shock when he arrived. In fact, he was- and is- quite lucky to be alive." Relief flooded through me, simply because Soda was still breathing. We hadn't lost this battle yet. My dismay returned, however, at the doctor's next statement.

"Sodapop suffered second- and third-degree burns over 50% of his body," he informed us. "He is still in severe shock. We treated him with plasma immediately, and are doing everything in our power to ease the pain as he regains consciousness. We've got him on some pretty strong painkillers. Although, the burns on his arms and ankle are so severe that it is unlikely he will be able to feel pain in them." My knees must have buckled a bit, because Two-Bit placed his hand on my shoulder to steady me and didn't let go.

"Can we see him?" asked Darry. If you hadn't known him, you wouldn't have been able to detect the tremor in his usually-level voice, wouldn't have noticed the tensing of his muscles. But they were apparent to me, and probably to Two-Bit and Steve. It was an odd thing, to see Darry worried. It always seemed as though being argumentative and hard-working and tired took up all of his time, and he didn't have the capacity to hold any other emotions. But, as I'd slowly been learning, nothing could be further from the truth. Darry felt just as much as I did. He just had different ways of showing it. Like a wobbling voice or tense muscles, or the broken, pleading look I'd seen on his face in this very hospital just months earlier.

"Not yet," said Dr. Sommers. "Patients in his condition are only allowed visitors after the shock wears off, or when there is nothing else we can do to help. Assuming Sodapop responds well to shock treatment over the next 24 hours, we'd like to perform full-thickness skin grafts on his left ankle, both forearms, and neck." As passionately as I tried to deny them, the doctor's words rung with truth. _He's burned up pretty bad..._

"Well, when _can _we see him?" asked Darry. I had to admire him. His voice was in no way rude, but it was firm enough to assure anyone listening that he meant business.

"Once the shock's worn off, I see no reason you can't visit with him before the procedures- that is, assuming you consent to them," responded Dr. Sommers gently. I decided that, as far as doctors went, this one seemed pretty okay. He hadn't offered sickeningly sympathetic smiles or withheld information from us, at any rate.

"Any guesses on when that'll be?" asked Steve, speaking for the first time since Dr. Sommers had entered the room. The latter thought for a moment.

"It's going to be at least a few hours," he eventually replied. "We want to make sure he's responding well to the treatment. Feel free either to go home or to make yourselves comfortable here. One of the staff will notify you of any changes in Sodapop's condition immediately." I knew there was no way any of us were leaving, though the sun was sinking rapidly in the sky. Darry gave a slight nod to the doctor.

"We'll be staying right here," he said. "Thanks for your help."

"My pleasure," replied Dr. Sommers warmly. "I only wish I had better news for you." With a nod toward the rest of, he exited the room, leaving it as cold and silent as before. Wordlessly, the four of us took our seats, having lost the will to do anything other than absorb the doctor's information. The wait dragged on.

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><p><strong>Ooh, now we're getting a bit deeper into it. Trust me, this story has plenty of twists and turns in store. Soda's life is definitely still hanging in the balance, and I've got many more developments planned, including police investigations, social services controversy, a million and one medical and financial complications (the poor Curtises can't ever catch a break, can they?), and maybe even a swirl of romance ;) I'm loving the interest that's being taken in this story, and I appreciate every single follow, favorite, and review. Oh, and I'm totally cool with guest reviews, by the way. I know some authors mind them, but it doesn't make a difference to me at all. A review's a review, and it makes me super happy to log into my email and find new ones in my inbox :) So let me know what you thought, good, bad, or horrendously awful :P<strong>

**Stay gold.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey there! Sorry for the wait, and for the fact that this chapter's a bit short and filler-ish, but we do touch on something interesting at the end! Chapter five is already in the works, but I'm still sorry for the shortness. Hopefully it will tide you over until next time, though! You guys are the best. Your reviews make my day, whether they're praising my writing or criticizing it! Oh, and I published a Cherry-centric one shot called "Unspoken" that reflects on her feelings for Dally, just in case anyone wants to read anything like that :) (I, myself, am an _extreme _Cherry/Dally shipper). Well, that's about it. Enjoy, and I'd love to know what you think!**

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><p><em>"Hospitals are places that you have to stay in for a long time, even if you are a visitor. Time doesn't seem to pass in the same way in hospitals as it does in other places. Time seems to almost not exist in the same way as it does in other places."<br>_~Pedro Almodovar

_Darry_

"Pony, you have school tomorrow."

"I'm staying."

"You need to get some sleep."

"I'm _staying_. You can't make me leave."

I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Both of my brothers could be undeniably stubborn. Resisting the urge to shoot back the fact that I _could_, in fact, make him leave, I took a calming breath and placed my hand gently on his shoulder. He looked up at me, and I saw both despair and indignity in his gray-green eyes.

"Pone, Soda needs us to be strong for him. You need to go home and get some rest." He shook his head.

"Not until I see him," he replied firmly, and I held his gaze for a moment before dropping it with a sigh.

"Fine," I agreed begrudgingly. "You can stay through tomorrow, but you're going back to school Wednesday." It was only then that I realized that tomorrow was Tuesday, which meant I was due to work a full twelve hours at the roofing firm. I felt certain my boss would understand my taking a day off, considering the circumstances, but it would be a difficult day to compensate for financially.

"Okay," Pony agreed, sinking sullenly into a chair as the others returned from a run to the vending machine, Steve with two cups of coffee and Two-Bit with a bag of chips and a fresh pack of cigarettes I felt sure he'd swiped from the pocket of an unknowing doctor. Steve handed one of the coffees to me, which I accepted gratefully.

"Any word?" he asked, taking a long, slow sip from his own coffee as he paced the floor. Remarkable though Two-Bit's pep talk had been, it wasn't difficult to tell that Steve was still waging war on himself inwardly.

"Not yet," I replied, watching absently as Two-Bit offered Pony a chip, which he declined. It was obvious he was dying for a cancer stick, but I refused to revoke my decision. If I went around caving to his every plea, I'd lose just about all of the authority I had managed to rack up.

We lapsed into silence for several minutes. Steve continued to pace, Two-Bit to smoke, and Pony and I to mull over the events of the day wordlessly. Eventually, I stood up, deciding to do what needed to be done before it got any later.

"I'm going to find a phone and call out of work tomorrow," I announced. The other three nodded, having expected I would do just that, and I wandered off down the hall. I soon came across a phone.

"Hello?" came a deep, jolly voice from the other end, picking up almost immediately after I had dialed. I instantly felt myself relax, though I hadn't realized I was _un_relaxed.

"Mr. Jenkins?" I replied. "This is Darrel Curtis. Sorry to bother you at this hour."

"Ah, it's no trouble, Darrel," he responded. "How are you?" I paused, unsure of how to respond. How _was _I?

"Well, I'm at the hospital right now," I eventually answered. "My brother was injured in the fire at the DX." Speaking the words aloud seemed to solidify them, to make them all the more real and all the more nightmarish, and I had to swallow the hard lump forming in my throat.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Mr. Jenkins replied, and I appreciated the sincerity of his tone, though it did nothing to make me feel better. "Sodapop, right?" I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, as if trying to block out the facts.

"Yes," I responded, the word tumbling out clipped and sharp. I tried to pacify my voice as I added, "I'm sorry to say I won't be able to make it to work tomorrow."

"That's quite alright, Darrel," my boss assured me. "Take all the time you need." I felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

"Thank you, Mr. Jenkins," I replied.

"It's not a problem, Darrel. Just focus on your family right now. Give Sodapop my best."

"I will, Mr. Jenkins." I needed to wrap up the conversation, because my voice was steadily becoming less and less dependable. "Have a nice night."

"You do the same, Darrel." The line clicked a moment later, and I placed the phone back in its position. I leaned against the wall for a moment, running a hand over my face. I felt somehow relieved and burdened at the same time, as if one, simple phone call had both decreased and multiplied my worries. Sighing heavily, I pushed myself off of the wall and made my way back down the hallway, so absorbed in my thoughts that I collided with a nurse.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I hurriedly apologized, just managing to catch the vial of liquid I had knocked out of her hand. I held it out for her sheepishly, rubbing my shoulder, and she took it with a smile.

"Don't worry about it," she said lightly, brushing a dark curl out of her eyes. "Thanks for saving this." She gestured towards the container of medication in her hand, and I found myself intrigued by the way her smile lit up her blue-gray eyes.

"Not a problem," I replied with a quiet chuckle. Still smiling, she continued down the hallway.

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><p><strong>Ooh ;) I just wanted to say that I totally understand that OC stories aren't always as popular with readers, simply because they don't love the author's original character in the way they've grown to love the real characters, or in the way that the authors themselves grow to love their own characters. It is for that reason that OC-centric storylines will always take a backseat in this story (and, for the most part, in any others I write). There will never be a chapter narrated by any original characters for any portion of this story, and Darry's concern and love for his brothers will always come before anything else. Well, that explanation was a bit longer than I intended for it to be! I promise the next chapter will be longer! Reviews are always, always appreciated, and I do respond! :)<strong>

**Stay gold.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, guys. SO sorry for the wait- Even I didn't realize it had been quite so long! Life's been quite crazy, but you all know what that's like. I'll try my best to get the next chapter up in less time (reviews _are _motivating, not even gonna try to pretend otherwise) ;) You guys are awesome. Onto the story!**

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><p><em>"Everything is f'ed up straight from the heart<br>Tell me, what do you do when it all falls apart?  
>Gotta pick myself up- where do I start?<br>'Cause I can't turn to you when it all falls apart"  
><em>~The Veronicas, "When it All Falls Apart"

_Ponyboy_

_The frigid breeze whipped relentlessly across my face, and I was grateful for the oversized jacket pulled around my shoulders. I had neither concept of time nor distance. My destination was a mystery. I knew not even where I was, though it seemed torturously familiar. So I ambled aimlessly for what seemed to be hours, though perhaps it was only minutes, not wanting to stop moving because it was so cold. Eventually, the smell of smoke wafted through the air, carried along by the wind. I looked up immediately, only to find myself standing before what appeared to be a church, alight with fire and actively crumbling. It was only then that I knew where I was. The realization came with a terrifying jolt. I was in Windrixville._

_ Screams were emanating from somewhere within the blazing dwelling. Before I had time to do so much as tear off the jacket, I had hurtled myself through the window nearest me. Johnny was inside. And maybe, just maybe, I could reach him this time._

_ Much to my shock, though, the figure entrapped by fallen beams and clouds of smoke was not Johnny. The person slumped against the back wall of the church, beneath a section of the roof that looked as though it might collapse at any moment, was my brother._

_ "Soda!" I screamed, leaping over a pocket of flame and propelling myself towards him. He looked up as a burning rafter came splintering down in front of me, and I jumped backwards with a yelp. Our eyes locked for a split second, before a horrid cracking sound rippled through the air, and he vanished from my sight in a cloud of debris and flame._

_ "Soda!"_

"Ponyboy!"

Someone was shaking me.

"Pony, wake up!"

I jerked my head upwards suddenly, breathing heavily. The brilliant light pouring into my bleary eyes seemed much too bright to be coming from any of the lamps in my bedroom. Disoriented, I cried, "Soda?"

"Not quite, little buddy," came a tired voice from beside me. Whirling around, I came face to face with Darry, whose hand was grasping my shoulder tightly as he crouched beside me. Glancing down, I realized I was sitting in a chair. Dally's scorched jacket was, of course, nowhere to be found, and not so much as a spark was in sight. Despite the fact that I knew I had been dreaming, it took several moments for me to remember where I was, and, more importantly, why I was there.

_You're in the hospital_, I told myself. _You're in the waiting room, waiting to see Soda_. Soda. Soda was in the hospital. Soda was in a fire. That part of my nightmare hadn't faded when I had woken up.

"You okay?" asked Two-Bit, who was standing in front of me, his arms crossed, puffing on a cigarette. Steve stood beside him, watching me intently, his expression unreadable. Behind them, the secretaries at the reception desk were looking down at me with a mixture of concern and confusion. Suddenly embarrassed, I straightened up and nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I replied, hoping I sounded more unshaken than I felt. One look at Darry's face and I could tell I didn't.

"You fell asleep," he supplied unnecessarily. "It was just a dream, Pone." His eyes met mine for a moment, but he looked away hurriedly, as if unsure what to say. It was usually Soda who comforted me after my nightmares.

"Have you heard anything yet?" I asked quickly, wanting desperately to change the subject. Darry shook his head, standing up. He ran a hand over his exhausted face, just as Steve exclaimed,

"What in almighty hell are they doing?" His bitter voice dripped with criticism and an underlying emotion I was too out of sorts to identify. "It's nearly 11 o'clock, for God's sake!" Glancing up at the clock on one of the walls, I was shocked to find that he was right. I had been asleep for much longer than I had thought.

"Take it easy, buddy," drawled Two-Bit, offering Steve a cigarette, which he declined out of sheer stubbornness, choosing instead to resume pacing. I studied my hands, feeling a hard lump beginning to form in my throat. My dream, and the disappointment of reentering reality, had left me drained. All I wanted was to see my brother, to be assured that he was still fighting.

It was another half hour before a nurse entered the waiting room, holding a clipboard. All of us were on our feet immediately.

"Sodapop Curtis?" she called, and under other circumstances, I would've appreciated the lack of curiosity in her tone, as if Sodapop was a name she heard every day.

Her eyes flitted across the four of us, freezing momentarily on Darry. A spark of something like recognition filled them, followed by a flare of pity, but the emotions had vanished before I was even positive I'd seen them.

"Patients in Sodapop's condition are only allowed two visitors at a time," she informed us. "He's been asking for his brothers." Darry looked towards Two-Bit and Steve, both of whom nodded in answer to the unasked question.

"You guys go, we'll catch up with him later," said Two-Bit. Darry and I both nodded in thanks. The nurse flashed a slight smile.

"Right this way, then," she said, brushing back a dark lock of hair and turning on her heel. Darry and I followed her through the doorway and down several hallways, before coming to a halt in front of a room torturously close to the one where Johnny had spent his last hours. I shoved the thought to the back of my mind, and tried to ignore the way my stomach was twisting painfully. The nurse, who was very pretty despite the shapeless, white outfit she was clothed in, regarded us.

"He's still pretty subdued," she told us. "He'll know who you are and where he is, but he may not remember what happened to him. He's on a fairly high dosage of morphine to dull the pain." I shuddered at the thought of Soda _not _knowing who we were.

Darry placed a hand on my shoulder and carefully turned the doorknob, as if it were a bomb about to detonate. I followed him slowly into the dimly lit room, suddenly reluctant. Soda was always full of more life than the rest of us put together. I didn't want to see him drugged up and defenseless.

What I saw, though, turned out to be much worse.

Soda lay on his back, nearly as pale as the white sheets of the bed beneath him, shirtless and with his eyes closed. Bandages were wound tightly around his forehead and abdomen, stained an unmistakable shade of red. His forearms and neck were so badly burned that I nearly gagged. The sickly stench of sterilizers did nothing to help.

There were tubes running underneath his nose and into his arms, and I knew right then that I'd never be able to forget the way he looked, so pale and lifeless. If it weren't for the slight rise and fall of his chest, I would have assumed the worst.

I must have flinched, because Darry looked down at me, concern flooding his gaze. I snapped my head to the left, though, knowing I was on the verge of tears. Instead of looking at him, I moved forward, as if in a trance.

When I was about a foot from the bed, Soda leaned slightly in my direction, his eyes fluttering open. "Hey, Pony," he slurred. I stepped closer, deeply relieved by the glint of life still shining in his dark eyes. He was still handsome enough to be a movie star. He was still Sodapop.

"Hey," I replied, unsure of what to say. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"How're you holding up, little buddy?" asked Darry from behind me. Soda grinned the smallest of grins.

"I'm alright," he answered. "I'm feeling pretty funny, though, that's for sure."

"What do you mean, 'funny'?" I asked, my worry renewed. Perhaps he was in pain and was only trying to hide it from us.

"Well," Soda murmured, "it sorta feels like I'm floating, you dig?" I didn't, exactly, but I nodded. He didn't appear to be in pain, at any rate.

"And I remember darn well what happened to me," he added suddenly. "I keep hearing the nurses talking like I don't know my own name." An impish smile crossed his lips, and the sight was enough to bring a grin to my own.

"I suppose I can forgive 'em, though," he said, eyes closing again, "'cause they're quite nice lookin'." I still felt conflicted, despite his playful demeanor. Was he truly comfortable, or was he just downplaying the pain?

"Well, you ain't looking so hot yourself," Darry pointed out jokingly, though a hint of concern managed to slip into his voice.

"Aw, I know," Soda replied, eyes still closed. He let out a yawn. "Are the guys here?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Steve's gonna wear out the floor with all the pacing he's doing." Soda chuckled softly.

"Well, tell him he owes me big time," he said teasingly.

"You can tell him yourself," Darry replied. "We'll send he and Two-Bit in if you feel up to it."

"Yeah, okay," Soda agreed. Darry placed a hand on Soda's shoulder briefly, before turning towards me.

"Pony, I'm going to get Steve and Two-Bit. You can stay here until they come in, if you want." I nodded, and he turned and made his way back to the door. I focused on Soda, again unsure of what to say.

He broke the silence. "Is it- is it too bad?" he asked, startling me. Uncomprehendingly, I raised my eyebrows.

"My burns," he clarified, voice still muffled. "Are they real bad lookin'?"

I was quiet for a moment, uncertain of how to respond. His arms and neck were nearly charred, the once-delicate skin broken and crimson-colored. Angry blisters were plastered across his chest, and blood seeped through his bandages. He looked pitiful, damaged. Irreparable, even. "Bad lookin'" was probably the understatement of the century. Swallowing the hard lump that had formed in my throat, I forced a grin.

"Nah, not bad lookin' at all. I think they make you look tuff."

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><p><strong>Sorry it was a bit short, but hope it was enough to tide you over until next time. Reviews make my entire day, even if they're 100% criticism! No need to do the compliment-criticism-compliment sandwich! If you hated it, that's totally cool with me! Oh, and I made an Outsiders Instagram- also SwitchbladesInMyHeart- Follow if you like! Oh, and happy early 50th birthday to Rob Lowe- tomorrow! :)<strong>

**Stay gold.**


	6. Chapter 6

_"__I know I took our lives for granted  
>I never thought the sun would fail to rise<br>How am I to understand this  
>All on my own?"<br>_~Every Avenue, _"If I Knew"_

_Darry_

Pony rejoined me in the waiting room shortly after I sent Two-Bit and Steve in to see Soda. I couldn't quite read the look on his face, so I simply flung an arm around his shoulder as he sat down next to me. I was suddenly stricken by the realization that a year ago, even a few months ago, the gesture would have been received awkwardly, had I even attempted it. The loss of our friends and Soda's dedication had pulled my youngest brother and me closer than we had ever been, even before Mom and Dad died. And now Soda could be slipping away from us.

I knew, more certainly than I'd ever known anything, that Ponyboy, the boys, and I would never be able to get by if we lost Soda. As much as I wanted to keep my mind off of the prospect, to remain hopeful, it was impossible to entirely block out the reality of our situation. I felt selfish for thinking more about what would happen to the rest of us without Soda than about his suffering, but I couldn't help but envision a bleak, unstable future. Soda meant so much to each of us. To Two-Bit, he was a loyal and devoted buddy, one to turn to both in times of trouble and of joy. To Steve, he was a best friend, the one who'd been by his side through years of mischief, sorrow, and laughter. To Ponyboy especially, he was a confidant, a role model, a lifesaver. I ached to be these things for my youngest brother, but I knew that I could never fill Soda's shoes. And to me, Soda was hope. Even in the darkest of times, he was able to convince me that things would get better. He could put a smile on any of our faces, when we needed it the most. I didn't want to think about what would happen to us if he was cruelly snatched away (_haven't we suffered enough grievous losses yet? _I begged of the universe). Would the remainder of our gang fall to pieces, torn apart by alcohol or worse? Nothing would go back to the way it was supposed to be. How could it, without Soda to liven up our house with jokes and miscolored meals? The thought of arriving home after work and not seeing his shoes discarded on the living room floor sent a sharp pang through my heart. I swore to myself that, if we were granted a miracle and allowed more time with our brother, I would never again gripe about his untidy habits.

Ponyboy and I sat in silence for some time, watching the minutes tick by on the waiting room clock. Eventually, Monday became Tuesday, and I began to wonder where Steve and Two-Bit had gotten to. Surely the nurse would have shooed them out of Soda's room by now? Standing up, I looked down at Pony.

"I'm gonna go see if I can track down the others," I told him. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than his eyes filled with an emotion I almost immediately identified as dread. It hit me a moment later. _He doesn't want to be alone. _Guiltily, I opened my mouth to appease the situation, to tell him I would stay, but I was cut off by the appearance of a subdued-looking Two-Bit in the doorway. Relatively relieved, I sat down and once again encircled Ponyboy's shoulders with my arm.

"Hey," I greeted Two-Bit, who sat down with a sigh. "Where's Steve?"

"Hell if I know," he replied. "He sorta… well, he sorta lost it. Waited 'til after Soda fell asleep, thank God, but seeing him so torn up kinda gutted him. He's still pretty angry with himself. Tore outa there like the devil was after him the second Soda's eyes closed. I think he needed some fresh air to help cool him down."

I digested this. It wasn't right of Steve to blame himself for Soda getting hurt- it wasn't any of our faults, and walking around feeling guilty was only going to make the whole ordeal more taxing on our emotions. Even so, when Steve was set on something, when his eyes filled with the intensity I'd seen in them earlier, no one but Sodapop or Evie could calm him down. I sighed.

"I figgered I'd give him a little while to sort himself out, and then go and look for him," Two-Bit added, lighting a cigarette. "I hate to say it, but I don't trust his temper, probably because if I were him I wouldn't trust my own. Don't want him doing something stupid." I nodded, because I'd been thinking along the same lines. I was grateful for Two-Bit's unprecedented wisdom and tact.

"How did Soda seem when you left?" Ponyboy asked Two-Bit.

"Seemed alright to me," he replied without missing a beat. "He's a fighter, your brother. A true Curtis." Pony and I both cracked a grin. Two-Bit was clearly trying to block out the darker details of our current situation, as he did with just about any unpleasantries, but at the moment I appreciated this. In the darkness, terror would swarm us. It was nice to have a bit of light, at the moment, to combat the fear.

The three of us lapsed into silence, listening to the rain falling steadily outside. There was no way to put into words the kind of thoughts we were having, and I think we all realized it. So we sat.

At some point, my thoughts began to center around religion. I had never been an avid churchgoer. It had always been my experience that success, hell, even survival, required hard work, not faith. And after the deaths of my parents, and later of Johnny and Dallas, I simply couldn't find a reason to believe that there was a higher being of any kind watching over us. At any rate, I didn't want to praise the god that was responsible for taking away their lives. But now that Soda's life was hanging in the balance, completely out of my control, I felt the need to do something, anything. So I prayed.

_God, _I thought, feeling somewhat foolish, _please don't take Sodapop away from us. His life doesn't deserve to end here, in this hospital. He deserves so much more than 17 years. He's better than the rest of us, and we need him. We couldn't get on without him. Please, don't let this be the end. _Was that it? Was I supposed to conclude with an "Amen?" I simply sighed, and studied the blank wall in front of me. I could feel my eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears, and I refused to let them fall. I may not have been Soda, but I could at least pretend to be strong for Ponyboy. I owed him that much.

Some time later, the once-placating silence had amplified to a suffocating volume. I began to feel as though I would go insane if no one said anything, and tried racking my brain for something to shatter the stillness with. Thankfully, Ponyboy cleared his throat and announced quietly,

"I want to go see Soda again." I turned to look at him, saddened but not surprised to see that his eyes were rimmed with red. I felt torn. On one hand, I knew that Soda needed to rest, but on the other, I understood Ponyboy's desperate longing to be close to our brother.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Pony pleaded, "I won't wake him up. I just want to see him." Silently, his eyes begged, _I just want to be sure that he's alright._ Somewhat reluctantly, I nodded.

"Sure, little buddy," I consented. He and Soda had always been so close, had always had a mutual understanding of each other. It wouldn't be right to keep Ponyboy out here in the waiting room. He'd worry himself sick. Perhaps if he saw that, for the time being, Soda was stable and peacefully resting, he'd be able to get some rest himself.

Ponyboy flashed a miniscule smile before making a beeline for the hallway that led to Soda's room. I was once again reminded of the growth our relationship had undergone in the previous few months, and nearly smiled in spite of myself.

"Well, I suppose I'll head out after Steve," Two-Bit declared, rising from his chair after taking a long drag on his cigarette. I watched him disappear out the front door and into the frigid, rainy night, before turning on my heel and heading in the direction of the hospital's small cafeteria. I wasn't in the mood to eat anything, but I figured another cup of coffee- as mild and lukewarm as the last one had been- might keep me going for a little while.

After receiving my coffee, I sat down at one of the six or so small tables in the cafeteria, which was empty except for myself and the man working behind the counter. I found myself once again staring absently at the wall, reflecting on the nightmare I was living. Mere hours ago, my biggest concern had been whether or not I would get home before it started to rain, and now I found myself in danger of losing one of the few people in this world I would unconditionally take a bullet for. I could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

When I was about half finished with my watery cup of coffee, I looked up to see a nurse, the one I had bumped into in the hallway, standing at the other side of the table.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked. In answer, I simply shook my head, and she pulled out a chair and sat down. To my surprise, she promptly lit a cigarette.

"I figured I might find you here," she said softly. "I've been taking care of your brother." I perked up immediately at the mention of Soda.

"How's he doing?" I asked, knowing the question was a stupid one. She wasn't likely to have any new information.

The nurse sighed. I could tell by the look on her face that she was contemplating whether to go with the optimistic response or the factual response. What scared me was that there was, in fact, a difference between the two.

"Well," she began eventually, "I'm not exactly supposed to discuss patients' conditions with their family members. We're supposed to leave that to the doctors." I opened my mouth to tell her not to worry about it, but instead she said, "His papers said that you were his brother, and his legal guardian." Her voice took on a gentler quality as she asked, "Why is that, if you don't mind my asking?"

I sighed inwardly. Over the past year, I'd answered that question many times, and it certainly wasn't something I wanted to discuss at the moment, with a stranger. But her eyes held no trace of judgment or scorn, only curiosity.

"Our parents died almost a year ago," I replied. "I applied for custody of my two brothers so that they wouldn't be placed in the foster system."

She was quiet for nearly a full minute after that. As I was talking, I realized that I had been right about the emotions I had seen in her eyes. She wasn't morbidly interested, as so many were. For whatever reason, she seemed to care about our situation.

"That's rough," she finally said. "I'm not gonna say I'm sorry about your folks- I'm sure you hear that all too much. But, for what it's worth, I think what you did is great. Really. It can't be easy, supporting your family the way you do. I don't know too many people who would be willing to do that."

It was my turn to be quiet. I was oddly touched by her words, though I could hardly give them my full attention while I was so concerned about Soda.

"I appreciate it," I responded. "But I was just doing what I had to do." To my confusion, she smiled.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit," she said warmly. A moment later, after taking a long drag on her cigarette, her face took on a more serious nature.

"If you want the truth, your brother's not exactly out of the woods yet," she said delicately, and though the words stung, I appreciated her straightforwardness.

"There's only so much we can do for injuries of that magnitude," she continued. "But he's responded well to treatment thus far, and Dr. Sommers is hopeful. He's a good doctor. Trust me, we're doing everything we can to help Sodapop. You can't lose hope." I found myself nodding, her words encouraging. They were more invigorating than the coffee, at any rate. Swallowing the last of it, I stood up.

"I should probably get back to my youngest brother," I told her. She, too, stood up, tossing the butt of her cigarette into a nearby trash can.

"I don't smoke often," she informed me as we walked towards the door. "Just needed a little something to steady my nerves, I guess. My name's Kathryn, by the way." She smiled, and, for whatever reason, I did, too. Holding the door open for her, I replied,

"Darrel Curtis." For the second time, she walked away with a smile on her face.

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><p><strong>Guys, I am SO sorry for the wait. I'm not gonna formulate a drawn-out excuse, but just know that, no matter how long it takes me to update, I won't abandon my stories. I'm in this for the long haul! Well, hope you liked this chapter, at any rate. Reviews are quite motivating, and that really is the truth (as I've said countless times before, if you have criticism, please don't hold back).<strong>

**Stay gold.**


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